


The Way In Which We Fall

by GalaxyGhosty



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Magic Revealed, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:50:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur doesn't take too kindly to Merlin after he reveals his magic--in fact, he casts Merlin out without even a second thought. Though not officially banished, it's clear that Arthur doesn't want Merlin anymore, and if Merlin can't be with Arthur, what's he really for? </p><p>But Merlin will do anything to make Arthur listen to him. Even if that means his own life is forfeit in doing so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way In Which We Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Little project I've been working on for some time now. I wrote this way back in October, but since life has been so crazy I never got around to editing it. Finally pulled together a little bit of motivation and time, and bam, here it is. 
> 
> I would like to point out that in this fic, there are implications/thoughts and threats of suicide. No suicide attempts are actually made, but in case this is a turn-away for people, I wanted to point it out.
> 
> But yeah, onto the story. Please enjoy!

The top of the castle is cold, colder than the inside of the castle, surely, the grand structure whistling as wind rips through it. 

Merlin shivers, rubbing at his arms. The soft, thin fabric of his tunic does little for him, and even his jacket, also well loved, worn with use, isn't doing him any good. He lets out a shaky breath, watching as the puff of air wafts into the heavens, long out of his reach, like fire smoke. 

_Fire,_ he thinks with a grimace. _It would be so easy to warm myself with magic._

But isn't that what got him into this mess in the first place?

He glances down at his fingers in distaste, as if by degrading them, all of his troubles would go away. These hands...the ones that have killed, have spilled blood, have been _used_ so mercilessly, all in the one person's name who hated him, now. He swallows, even thinking of it again making him feel sick to his stomach.

Arthur. He had finally mucked up the courage to tell him about his magic, and this is what he's become. A lonely, poor sod, who no one will directly look in the eye anymore, who gives him tight smiles and bows their heads, looking away from him. He feels like a stranger in his own home. It drives him bloody mad, and he can't make it go _away._

He'd tried to explain to Arthur all that he had ever done—keeping him safe, and that his magic was Arthur's and only Arthur's—but Arthur had been so blinded by the mere _thought_ of Merlin being a sorcerer that he'd banished him from his quarters without letting him _explain_ , telling him that he wasn't to so much as be in the same _room_ with him unless Arthur asked for him. It had given Merlin the vague hope that Arthur would calm down, and listen before doing anything rash. 

That had been over a month ago. 

Merlin lets out another shaky breath as a particularly sharp wind cuts through him. Is this what he deserves? Has he truly earned this from all that he has done? He wants to scream at the heavens, to demand that fate be damned—that he be given another chance. Because this can't be his destiny, can it? He'll still give his life for Arthur—that's far beyond destiny now—but is this truly to be his fate, after all he has worked for? To be condemned by the man, the man he—he—loves? To be forced into shadows for the rest of his meager existence? Is this truly what he was born for? 

The warlock peers over the edge of the castle walls, looking over the town. He squints, taking in how small everything seems from up here. It would be so easy to fall, if someone weren't careful. Someone could fall right to their deaths, and from the looks of it, it could quite possibly kill instantly. Probably wouldn't feel a thing, other than the fear before impact. 

On a spur of a whim, he hoists himself up with shaky fingers, stiff from the cold. Merlin holds his arms out on either side of him, catching his balance, and once he's steady, he continues to look out.

It's honestly beautiful, in a way he can't explain. Merlin allows himself a tiny smile, and though the wind is still freezing, though it still burns his cheeks, it feels nice, from this angle. Maybe his mind is just freezing over as well, he ponders briefly. 

He looks down and feels his stomach double over itself. It looks like an even longer drop, now. He shifts his foot but a fraction, a small pebble dropping as he does so. It's a long time before he sees it hit the ground, and he only just sees it, how the dirt seems to move ever so slightly. He pauses, taking in a breath. 

It would be so easy to tilt himself over. He could do it, too. Arthur clearly doesn't have use for him anymore—and what of destiny, anyway? They give him this, this pitiful existence when all he wanted was to ensure Arthur that he trusted him—that he was finally to give the last piece of himself over to his king. But Arthur clearly doesn't see it that way, and he certainly doesn't want Merlin. So what's his purpose, if not for Arthur? 

“Merlin?” 

Merlin fights the urge to jump, and instead stills, closing his eyes. He gulps, and then slowly tilts his head around to look at the source of the voice, and is curious to see Sir Leon, regarding him with a guarded expression. Merlin quirks a brow, as if to ask what he wants, and Leon clears his throat.

“Merlin,” he says, voice a little softer, but there's something underneath of it, something he can't place. “It's dangerous up there. Come down, you're going to get yourself killed.” 

Leon's never been overly cruel to Merlin. In fact, it's quite the opposite. Once he'd earned Arthur's loyalty, Leon had always treated him kindly. Even before he'd gained Arthur's favor, he'd been polite to him. If he's voicing the concern for his wellbeing now, Merlin can only guess he means it. But still...

The way Leon's eyes meet his, he sees it. Leon is scared. For what? He's not the one up on the ledge. He's not the one who could potentially fall and die in an instant. What does he have to be afraid of? 

“In a minute,” Merlin replies quietly, looking down at the town again. 

“Merlin,” Leon says again, a little more forceful. “You're going to fall. Step back, easy now.” 

Who cares if he falls? This is the first proper conversation he's had in weeks. Even Gwen won't really look at him now. No one would really care, would they? Certainly not Arthur, who's love, in any form, is all he's ever wanted. 

_Arthur..._

He bites his lip, and he can feel his heart pick up speed in his chest. “I'm not getting down.” 

“Merlin--” 

“Tell King Arthur,” he chokes a bit on Arthur's name, realizing he hasn't said it allowed in all this time. He pauses, takes a breath, and then continues, still weary, “Tell his majesty...he has ten minutes to come up here. If he's not up here in ten minutes, I'll jump.” 

Leon pales, and he steps closer. “You can't mean--” 

“Don't,” Merlin murmurs, clenching his fists. “Come any closer. Go tell him. Now....please.” 

The knight looks a little shaken, but he nods his head once, and turns around, pacing back down the stairs. 

Merlin overlooks the town again, and he closes his eyes, wondering what the hell he's actually doing. 

~~

Arthur stares out the window, watching servants and guards alike flit about the citadel idly, listening to the low crackle of the fireplace. He twirls the ring around his finger absentmindedly, deep and lost in thought, only startling when his doors burst open. 

He turns sharply, and barks out without really realizing who it is. “Hasn't anyone ever taught you to _knock_?” 

Leon's standing there, slightly frazzled, looking at him with concealed distress Arthur has long learned to spot in him. He quells the anger that arose in him briefly, and sighs, walking towards him. “Leon. You look as though you've seen a ghost. What is it?” 

The knight clears his throat, regaining his composure. “It's...Merlin, sire.” 

“Merlin?”

The name feels foreign on his tongue, heavy and bitter, sending a cold slap of nostalgia through him. His clumsy servant has been absent as of late, and he grits his teeth as the memory of _why_ resurfaces. Merlin, who is a sorcerer. Merlin, who's lied to him, all these years, without question, without _reason--_

“What about him?” he says harshly. 

Leon looks uncomfortable, off-put by his tone. “He's...on the roof, sire.” 

“I don't need updates on my former manservant's whereabouts, Leon,” Arthur replies crossly, turning away from him. He feels a pang in his chest as he says _former_. “It's no concern of mine what he's doing.” 

His thoughts stray slightly. It's freezing outside today, what could Merlin be doing on the roof? 

“He's on the ledge,” Leon blurts out, and Arthur turns back to him, raising a brow. “I told him to get down but he said that...that if you didn't come up in...in ten minutes, he'd jump.” 

It feels as though someone has doused him with ice water the minute the words escape Leon's lips. He stares, almost blankly for a moment, before Leon continues, rather urgently, “I've got Sir Gwaine up there trying to talk him down, but as far as I know, he's still up there. He won't get down, and he keeps telling no one to approach him. He threatened to jump over the minute I stepped closer to him, earlier.” 

Arthur watches the expression on his knight's face change, and he can tell Leon is fighting back the urge to ask him to go up there, to get Merlin down and preferably, alive. Leon doesn't know the full extent of what happened between him and Merlin—no one does, he hasn't told anyone—but he knows how incredibly fond all the knights are of his idiot servant—his...his beloved servant, and the image of Merlin's twisted body at the bottom of the castle sends a rush of sickness through him.

He grabs the cloak laid out on the bed, and storms past Leon without a word, towards the roof. 

~~

“Merlin, come on Merlin, get down from there--” 

“Gwaine, I'm warning you! If you step any closer, I'm going to let myself fall.” 

Gwaine lets out a noise that sounds somewhere in the middle of a growl of frustration and a hysteric laugh. Merlin watches him carefully, noticing how Gwaine looks as though he's trying incredibly hard not to cross the imaginary boundary Merlin has set for him. Every now and again, Merlin glances at the door, waiting, and he sighs.

He wouldn't be surprised if Arthur doesn't come. Does he have a reason to? Merlin _lied_ to him, Merlin is a _sorcerer_. It doesn't matter if Merlin's going to _kill himself--_

“By the Gods, Merlin!” 

Now, Merlin does startle, and he yelps, only just managing to catch himself from tumbling straight over the edge. He balances himself, the clenches his fists together, daring to look up--

Arthur is standing there, looking thoroughly displeased, Leon following close behind. 

“Get down from there, honestly, you're going to get yourself killed, and no one wants to clean up your sorry arse at the bottom down there,” Arthur snaps, but there's...there's something hidden inside his voice. It sounds a pitch or two off, a little cracked, but to the untrained ear, nothing is wrong.

Is...Arthur worried about him? 

Arthur starts walking towards him. Merlin panics, screaming out, “Don't come any closer! Stay right there!” 

Arthur stops immediately, and he regards him with wary eyes. He clears his throat, and says, more forcefully, “Merlin, as your king, I'm ordering you to get down from there at once.” 

“Not until you listen to me!” Merlin finds himself saying, before he realizes it. He hugs his arms to his chest, and he begins to shake. “I don't care what happens to me afterward, but Arthur _please_ , please, just listen to me. Let me _explain_.” 

“Fine, I _will_ , but just—stars above, Merlin, get _down_ from there. We'll go back to my chambers and _talk_ if that's what you insist on--” 

“No! We're doing this, right here, right now,” the warlock huffs out, his cheeks burning. “We're going to do this here so I know you won't run away, from _this_ , from _me_.” 

Arthur looks affronted. “I don't run away--” 

Merlin silences him with a glare. He averts his gaze only to look at Gwaine and Leon. “Leave us.” 

Leon looks as though he's considering defying it, while Gwaine looks as though he _is_ defying it. Arthur hisses at them without tearing his gaze from Merlin, “You heard him, get out.” 

Gwaine huffs, and Leon bows his head, leaving without protest. Gwaine walks to Arthur and says, lowly, “I'm going to be waiting right down there. If I see him fall, I'm coming for your head, king or no king.”

Merlin thinks about reprimanding him for the comment, because he knows Gwaine will likely follow through, but he stalks off before Merlin can say anything. He returns his eyes to Arthur, who's looking at him in a mixture of carefully controlled worry and anger. 

“What the _hell_ are you playing at?” Arthur says from clenched teeth. “Merlin, this is ridiculous. Get down from there, _now_.” 

“Not until you listen to me,” Merlin repeats, swallowing the lump that forms in his throat. “I'm not getting down from here until you listen to me. And, Arthur—I swear to the Gods above if you even _think_ about getting any closer to me, I'll jump off right now.” 

Arthur glances down at the space between them, and lets out a short breath. “Then start talking.” 

The warlock's heart is thrumming in his ears, and his magic is sizzling under his skin, wanting to please Arthur, to get off of the edge and walk to him, to be _safe_ , but he keeps his feet firmly planted on the stone. He swallows again, and says quietly, “My magic has only ever been for you. I need you to know that.” 

Arthur says nothing, but looks slightly pained, as if he doesn't want to have this conversation. Merlin continues, a little louder, “I saved your life using magic on my first day here. I slowed time and pulled you out of the dagger's way.” 

A pause. Silence. “I made the snakes on Valiant's shield come to life, so everyone would see he was using magic to win the tournament. I summoned the wind to your fire that killed the Afanc when it was poisoning the water.”

Arthur is eyeing him critically. Merlin puts his hands together, and whispers a spell under his breath. A blue light forms in his hands, hovering a few inches above his palm. He watches Arthur step back, looking shocked. “I summoned the light that guided you out of the cave.”

He extinguishes the light, and takes in another cold breath, burning his lungs and throat. He's beginning to feel dizzy, which, really isn't good, because at this rate, he'll lose his balance and die before he can even finish telling Arthur everything. He meets his king's gaze through a haze of unshed tears and sees how the mask he had been wearing has crumbled, and he looks physically pained, but Merlin can't tell if it's from anger or from regret, or none of the above.

Merlin continues saying everything, from enchanting Lancelot's weapon to kill the griffin to attempting to trade his life when the Questing Beast bit Arthur. He tells him of Sigan and the troll, Morgana and Morgause, of Mordred and the dragon, his father, of Will (he chokes a bit there). He tells him about Freya and Edwin and the numerous, unnamed sorcerers and men that he's killed to keep him safe. The rest comes tumbling from his lips, every lie he's ever told, every wrong he's ever done, every story Arthur's never heard. It all comes pouring out of him in buckets and buckets and he can't stop. The words spill like blood from an open wound. 

Merlin knows he's crying, and it's okay, he doesn't care anymore. All he wants is for Arthur to see him, all he wants is for Arthur to _know_ , to know all that Merlin has done for him, all that he's given up for him. He doesn't care if Arthur decides to kill him after this, he'll let him, to be honest, but for one day, one moment, one _instant_ , he wants Arthur to look at him and not see _idiot_ , but see _sorcerer_ , or more importantly, just _Merlin_ in his place. 

He breathes, the wind whipping at him, and he thinks now, now he should let himself fall. He shouldn't wait to hear Arthur's verdict, shouldn't wait to hear him say that it doesn't excuse his lies, that he's still betrayed him. Arthur can't trust him anymore, he knows this, because Merlin has lied, and in the king's eyes, that's inexcusable, that's--

“Come here, Merlin.”

Arthur's voice is quiet, and again, there's something...off about it. It's not very regal at all—it's as though the the king has been torn away, and only Arthur is left in his place. It's not broken by any means, but it's a tone he's never heard him use before. Arthur is never vulnerable, never this weak, never betrays his emotions as he is now. 

It makes Merlin look up, tentatively. 

There's no pressure behind the words that Arthur's spoken to him. Merlin can tell that if he chooses not to listen, Arthur won't reprimand him for it. But Merlin can't even think of telling him no, because Arthur looks _miserable_. The breeze has chilled them both to their very core, evident from how Arthur's cheeks are crimson, blood rushing to his face in vain attempts to keep the skin warm. His eyes are rimmed red, as well, but Merlin can't help but think that maybe _that's_ not from the cold. 

“Arthur,” he chokes out, wary, uncertain still. His feet feel like they're frozen to the stone, as if he can't move, as if he doesn't want to. 

_Fall, fall, fall_ , something whispers, deep inside of him. _Just fall._

“Please,” Arthur whispers, almost inaudible above the howling of the wind. But it's all Merlin needs.

Any thoughts of falling are banished. Like melting ice, his feet move. Slowly, he steps one foot down, still holding himself, arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen. He wobbles, and lets the other foot drop just as slow, stabling himself. He looks down at his boots, takes a breath, and wiping his tears away, he walks forward. 

Arthur meets him halfway. 

It's so sudden that Merlin doesn't realize what's happening at first. Arthur wraps his arms around him and holds him tight against him, their shared warmth instantly spreading throughout Merlin's skin. He stiffens, unsure, not understanding what's brought this on, what this means, when he squeezes, a little tighter, silent reassurances Merlin swears he can hear. 

“I'm sorry,” Arthur murmurs into his ear, dropping his head down onto his shoulder. “I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.” 

Merlin's heart is pounding in his chest, disbelieving. Arthur doesn't apologize, he never does. He's never in all the time Merlin's known him say _sorry_ , and mean it in this intensity, to this degree. But here he is, whispering words into Merlin's skin as if he'd say them for the rest of his life, if that's what it took to make Merlin hear him. 

The grip on him tightens, fingers needy, imploring. Merlin doesn't have any idea how to handle this—angry Arthur he can deal with, he knows how to handle drunk Arthur and sad Arthur and happy Arthur and annoyed Arthur—but an Arthur who's regretful, who's apologizing to Merlin? How does Merlin handle this side of Arthur, one he's never seen?

“You've done so much for me,” Arthur is saying, and it's _scaring_ Merlin, how pitiful he sounds. It's _vulnerable_ , it's _weakness_ , and he's not _caring_. “You've done so much and all I did was toss you out without a thought. You've been so loyal to me and I didn't even _think_ twice about it. I didn't even _consider_ listening to what you might have had to say.”

“You were angry,” Merlin mutters, trying to reason, and he feels weary, down to his bones. “I wouldn't have expected any different. You did think about me, you didn't have me killed.” 

“And that's supposed to make me feel better?” Arthur snaps, and something inside of Merlin flips, before Arthur quells the flash of anger. “I do not repay such courage with banishment, Merlin. It's unjust and I've been far too cruel. I should've heard you out, I should've--” 

Merlin puts a hand to his cheek, silencing him. “You're doing it now.” 

“Only because you were going to jump off the castle wall if I didn't!” Arthur looks visibly pained by the thought, hands braced against Merlin's shoulders, holding him at arm's length. “Gods, Merlin, I thought about _letting_ you. I didn't think you were foolish enough to...and then Leon ruins it by being the most trustworthy man I've ever met, and if he said it I knew it had to be true and... _Gods_ , Merlin.” 

He pulls him back against him, pressing their foreheads together. Merlin feels his throat closing up. “Arthur...”

“Don't...” he breathes, voice hoarse. “Don't _ever_ do that again. I will not lose you, Merlin. I will not endure that loss.” 

Merlin closes his eyes, words failing him. He simply nods his head, because what else can he say? He'd walk to the ends of the earth if Arthur asked him. Even after everything, he would do it all over again. 

“All that you have done for Camelot, for me,” Arthur's arms are strong around him, and Merlin feels _safe_ , moving his head away to rest it on his shoulder. “I know now. Such loyalty is not freely given, and I will spend the rest of my days striving to be worthy of it.” 

“You already are,” Merlin mumbles, voice scant above a whisper. “You've always been worth my loyalty.” 

“But not worth your tears,” Arthur says, offering him a tentative smile. He runs a gloved hand along Merlin's cheek. “Haven't I told you that before? Come now, don't act like the girl I've been calling you for years.” 

The joke is a little weak, and maybe a bit tentative, but Merlin grins like a lunatic. He nudges Arthur gently on the arm. “Yeah, you really aren't.” 

Arthur chuckles quietly, the sound rich and deep in his throat. At that, Merlin feels relieved. He looks at him, gaze narrowing slightly, but not in a bad way. Arthur's lips quirk into a soft smile, and it's warm, settling into him like the gentle glow of a fire. 

“You _will_ be free,” Arthur promises suddenly, with a curt nod. “You and all the others who've lived in fear, and those who've not yet realized what it is they can do. I've sworn to build a kingdom that is fair and just, and that means for _all_ of my people, including the magical ones. It will take time, for this land has seen magic do great evil, and the scars it has left are great, but I will make it happen. You have my word.”

He feels like crying all over again. He's been waiting what feels like his entire life to hear those words, and now that it's finally happening, he scarcely knows how to respond. He says finally, a little weary, “And that is more than enough for me.”

Another nod, then a smile. The king is back, but the man, just _Arthur_ , still lingers, in his eyes, in the curve of his lips. 

“When that time comes, I'll find myself in need of a Court Sorcerer,” he drawls, fixing him with a look. “Someone I can trust, who's loyal, who I'll never doubt...” 

“Don't forget charming, talented, and _extremely_ patient.” 

Arthur snorts, but doesn't deny it. “Any idea who's good for the job, then?” 

Merlin offers a careless shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Might know a person, or two.” 

The king makes a gesture of rolling his eyes, but there's obviously no heat behind it. He cuffs Merlin on the head, ignoring his indignant squawks. Pulling on him, he heads towards the door back down the castle. 

“Come on, you lunatic,” he puts an arm around him, and Merlin can't help but feel giddy about the amount of affection he's receiving today. “We're going inside before we catch our deaths.” 

And despite the cold wind still nipping at his heels, Merlin feels warmer than he has in ages.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
